


Soylent Coffee Is People

by messier51



Series: Tired Tropes [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Creature Castiel, Gen, Horror, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7535209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messier51/pseuds/messier51
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dreaded coffeeshop AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soylent Coffee Is People

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr [here](http://messier51.tumblr.com/post/120162482297/the-dreaded-coffee-shop-au) for the [tired tropes](http://messier51.tumblr.com/post/120138934007/ceeainthereforthat-defilerwyrm-why-settle) prompt: "the dreaded coffee shop AU."
> 
> I was trying to decide whether or not I would post this one here, because I DO HAVE A SERIOUS PLAN TO WRITE MORE OF THIS ONE--unlike most of the rest of the tired tropes ficlets--but I'm going to put this here for now anyway as part of the collection & as a teaser for the longer work. Which I am going to do. (Dear me: do the thing.)

The sign on the old storefront says Coffee, but the shit in his mug is not coffee. It’s not even the burnt sludge you get at a roadside diner or the stuff you can get at a gas station that almost passes for coffee. **  
**

At least it’s not blood. Dean’s seen blood before, and the cup in front of him? That ain’t it. Smells like some unholy mix between freesia and ozone. Not. Coffee.

Two weeks the grunts have been staking out this building, and haven’t caught hair nor hide of the half a dozen missing persons. Six people, plus another gone missing since, who were all last seen in the vicinity. Seven phones whose locus of GPS locations is identical to this one shitty coffeeshop.

Something good must be in the not-coffee, though, because every single person coming out of the shop is described as “energetic” and “almost glowing.” In the dim single-room shop, Dean believes it. Typing out a shopping list while studying the redhead at the counter is easy enough, and as long as he looks busy enough between dinner plans and flirting, no one will notice that he hasn’t touched his not-coffee. Probably.

In accordance with the treaties, no Policing Force may enter a home or business without due process. Social, magical, natural and supernatural issues must be appealed through their natural channels before bringing them forth on lawful grounds, and mostly it works. When people fall through the cracks–not usually literally, like in this case–that’s when people like Dean get called in.

It’s not legal, per se, to bait for the any of the Policing Forces.

Most days that means it’s way more fun.

Almost through tapping out “do we need buns to put those wieners in for dinner tonight” Dean gets distracted by a shifting glare out of the corner of his eye. It takes every year of ingrained training not to turn his head towards the offending light, and instead he smiles up at the woman behind the counter. She’s got big eyes and leans forward across the counter to smile back. Dean lets his focus slide to his peripheral vision.

Last time he checked the listings, light leaking out of eye sockets wasn’t a catalogued extranormal condition and/or controlled legal malady. Dean’s never heard of or seen it before. Finishing off the text and sending it off to Sam, he lets his eyes roam around the room. Every member of the shop’s clientele has pale blue light leaking from their eyes.

He ought to send off a message to The Force. Let them know there’s something off about this place. More than that, though, he’s really curious what the coffee tastes like.

Dean puts his phone in his pocket and picks up the mug he’s managed to ignore. It’s warm against his fingers, and he barely notes the wings of blue dribbling from the barista’s wide eyes as his focus hones in on his beverage.

A hand, gentle on Dean’s shoulder startles the drink from his grasp.

“You don’t belong here,” a voice says, as Dean’s mug falls to the floor. “What are you doing?”

The man sitting in the chair next to Dean has blue eyes that glow even when Dean’s looking at them straight on, and Dean wants to lash out, but his brain can’t find his limbs.

The man drags Dean to the door by his shoulder, and pushes him out. Dean stumbles back to The Force’s squad car, and passes out to a litany of interrogation questions.

When they go back the next day to try again, all they find is a boarded up and empty building. 


End file.
